Petrouchka Alexieva

I am a Book

 

"Who are you?"- Somebody asked me.

All right…

 

I'm a book with torn bumpy pages

With a little bit faded corners and script,

Because I was not yesterday created,

But, indeed, I still exist.

 

My cover is solid and stable

And the title is still in gold.

I have little lock for protection

From the ones that try to walk

Over my face, over my spine;

Try to scratch and peel my skin.

But, surprisingly…I'm still doing fine!

 

My cover has some cracks and few blisters 

From speedy high desert twisters.

I was also soaked and thrown in between

Bunch of daily tornados and muddy floats,

Seasonal hurricanes and mid-life monsoons.

Then I was discovered by few raccoons,

Who tried to rip off my heart and shred it apart.

Even couple of times

Somebody spilt glass of wine

On me…But surprisingly…I'm still doing fine!

 

Who I am? You must know, indeed,

Many languages to be able to read 

Chapter by chapter of this journey of ME.

Oh, it will be good,

If you bring your humor and positive mood.

Who I am? - I am simply a book.

 

Now, it’s my turn to ask, if you don’t mind:

How many books you have read

And left in the dust with neglect?

Oh, just asking… Don’t answer…

Don’t worry…I will be fine!

 

 

 

In The Morning

 

I kissed you softer and longer last night.

You’ll weak up in the morning

By the ring of the coffee machine. 

Yes, I first set the timer and…I moved out

Barefooted and silent,

Without disturbing your dream...

 

In the morning, you’ll find out

That I bought only one-way ticket to fly -

One direction, one destination.

True, you will be left behind.

Don’t bother, when I close my eyes

I‘ll see you with my heart.

 

In fact, we already grew apart.

We already live in different galaxies

While try to avoid unwanted impacts.

Don’t worry, we will heel

All these bruises, blisters and calluses.

 

At first, in the morning you’ll be

A little bit soar,

A little bit bitter,

And a little bit stiff…

Don’t get lost, just open the door

And grab your coffee.

Don’t you want to be free?

C'est la vie, Mon Ami'!

 

 

On The 35^th Floor

 

It is almost midnight.

The large summer moon

Throws misty light

Over my shoulders.

It is past midnight.

I suppose to be home

At this time, but no…

I am still in the office.

 

Shell I go?…On the 35^th floor

Time is silently frozen.

Bellow

The city is sleeping,

Taxis and trolleys are slow

Blinking with million lights.

 

Shell I go?…I locked the door

From inside.

Until the morning,

No telephones, no meetings.

35^th floor is my insomniac island.

…and It’s already a minute past midnight.